


A Portrait's Duty

by TheMightyFlynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_drizzle, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Gen, HP Drizzle Fest 2019, M/M, Mild Language, Tension, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/pseuds/TheMightyFlynn
Summary: The portrait of Salazar Slytherin hung on the wall of the Slytherin common room for one thousand years, doing its duty by its subject.





	1. Founder's Era

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to smirkingcat for the speedy beta!  
A quick note for the Merlin section: I took inspiration from Thomas Malory's _Le Morte d'Arthur_ for the relationships between the characters.

**Salazar Slytherin's portrait, 993**

"Ah, yes, this is perfect." A tall, regal-looking man entered the Slytherin common room, his elaborate green robes swishing along the floor behind him as he moved. "With the storm outside, the room is so quiet, but strangely welcoming."

Salazar Slytherin's portrait took the words of its subject in. The magic imbued into the painting told it that this was the man it must emulate.

_The room is so quiet, but strangely welcoming…_

The portrait must be a perfect copy of its subject. All of Slytherin's knowledge, opinions, and personality should be imitated exactly. And it was. For all time.

*~*

**The Bloody Baron, 999**

_…I cannot accept your hand, and I believe you know why. I must ask you to desist in asking for mine._

_Faithfully,  
Helena Ravenclaw_

The note was ripped to shreds as The Baron – as his fellow students had deemed it amusing to nickname him – lost his temper. That bitch!

How _dare_ she turn him down? Who did she think she was? Just because her mother had constructed the school, did that make her so far above him? Lightning flashed silently as movement caught his eye.

"You saw nothing," he snarled at the portrait, which merely inclined its head in response.

*~*

**Salazar Slytherin, 1003**

"Helena Ravenclaw is dead."

"He was one of the Slytherins."

"…never trusted him."

The whispers followed Slytherin through the castle as he stalked down to the dungeons. Rowena's pain at the death of her daughter had repercussions that he knew would be felt by many for years to come. He had to get out.

The floor vibrated, although whether that was the thunder outside, or Rowena's magic searching for him, he had no idea. The common room was silent as he entered.

"This does not bode well for future generations."

Salazar shot his portrait a glare. "No, it does not."

*~*

**Salazar Slytherin, 1003**

"You worthless bastard." The words were snarled as Godric stalked up to him, a look of pure hatred in his eyes. Rain dripped from his robes as he moved, splashing onto Salazar's shoes. "You knew what he was capable of and you did _nothing_."

Salazar kept moving. There was no chance of a reconciliation now, he knew. The Baron's actions had sealed his fate when it came to this school. He gave the password to the common room.

"Helena's death was regrettable, but not my fault."

"No, nothing ever is your fault, is it?"

A small movement from the corner of his eye caught Salazar's attention just as it seemed the sound from the storm outside quietened. He ignored it.

"What exactly is it you want from me, Godric? An apology for someone else's actions?"

Godric's eyes flashed as Salazar stopped in front of the fire and turned to face him. Salazar's fingers flexed, his hand moving immediately to his wand.

"I want you out."

Salazar's lip curled. "'Out'?"

"Out of this school. Leave Rowena to her grief and allow the students time to recover from the shock. Give them all the chance they need."

With that, Godric was gone.

*~*

**Salazar's portrait, 1003**

How exactly did one react when the subject of one's own painting has departed the place one occupies? That had not been part of the discussion Salazar had had with his portrait.

The students continued to enter and exit, getting on with lives that were beyond the portrait's scope of comprehension. This room was what it knew; the pre-determined functions set forth by the discussion with Salazar were its reason for existing. Life moved on without Salazar present.

Thunder rumbled above. With a small nod of its head, the portrait muffled the room. It would continue on with its job.


	2. Medieval Era

**Merlin, 1345**

It was pouring rain the day Merlin was sorted into Slytherin. Cold wind blew down the corridors of Hogwarts, the rain pelting the windows so hard they shook. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.

He had heard the rumours about Slytherin House – who hadn't? – but was determined to make up his own mind. He hadn't aimed to be placed into the one House that all others seemed to dislike, but it couldn't hurt, right? It could be good to be feared, even useful at times.

The sounds of rain and wind halted the second he entered the common room. A fire blazed in the hearth, with soft-looking armchairs placed near it. The stone walls were warmed by the fire, radiating heat the closer Merlin got to them. Even the murky green of the lake outside the windows seemed to welcome him.

Greeted by the portrait of an elegant and poised man – Salazar Slytherin himself, he assumed – it was like coming home. He let out a shaky breath as he stood in the middle of the room to listen to the Prefect who had guided them all down to the dungeons. This House would help him grow, he knew.

*~*

**Morgan le Fay, 1352**

"Merlin!" Morgan brushed the snow from her shoulders as she stepped into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, chasing Merlin. "Merlin, wait!"

He was moving too quickly for her. Lengthening her strides, she chased him to the Slytherin common room.

"Merlin!"

He stood before the fire, the snow on his cloak melting rapidly. The sounds of the snowstorm softened, as they always did, as Morgan entered the room.

"What is it?"

Merlin's hands were shaking. "The prophecy."

Morgan frowned. Everyone knew an important prophecy had been made. "Yes?"  
Merlin took deep breaths, but still did not face her. "It's about Arthur."

*~*

**Morgan le Fay, 1353**

It was dark times. Arthur – the future king, and Morgan's half-brother – had been prophesised to die. By whose hand, no one knew. They were dark and dangerous times. She shivered as she entered the common room.

"Morgan!" Wide-eyed and innocent-looking, Mordred stared up at her from the hearth. "Is it always so quiet in here?"

Attempting to shake the dark thoughts from her mind, Morgan smiled. "Usually only when there are storms about. Surely you do not dislike it?"

"Of course not." Mordred shifted over on the hearthrug, making room for her. "Tell me more about Uncle Arthur's war plans."

*~*

**Mordred, 1360**

"Finally graduating, Mordred? How's it feel?"

Standing before the fire in the common room, Mordred stood tall. His robes were immaculate, and made of the most expensive of silks the royal coffers could afford.

Sunlight filtered down through the green of the lake outside the windows, marred only by a silently-falling light rain. It was his final day as a student. He would now step up into his birth-right by the side of his half-uncle, Arthur Pendragon, the English king. It was a moment he had awaited his entire life.

"Like a prophecy fulfilled," he replied, with a small smile.


	3. Tudor Era

**Lucius Malfoy I, 1547**

"_Prince_ Lucius Malfoy will it be, then?"

Snickers followed Lucius through into the common room as he brushed snow from his cloak. The wind was fierce that night; it had been all he could do to simply keep his clothing straight, let alone cast any form of protection charm. He smiled as he entered the room.

"She is young, but as soon as Elizabeth comes of age, then yes. I certainly hope so."

He ran his hands through his hair, shifting snow out of the strands. _Prince Lucius_. It was fitting, he believed, even if it was a Muggle title.

*~*

**Melanthios Black, 1550**

"Did you hear about Malfoy?"

"A Muggle? Even if she is royalty, do you believe him?"

Melanthios grinned. His cousin Lucius was well-known within their circles for his charm. Apparently, it even worked on Muggles. The common room was silent as he and his friends entered.

"He'll do well for himself," he stated broadly as he shook his cloak out. "I always knew he would. Good blood, you see."

The portrait of Salazar Slytherin appeared to nod his head in recognition of Melanthios' words. He grinned and Summoned a glass. Raising it, he winked at the portrait.

"To Prince Lucius!"

*~*

**Seraphina Rosier, 1565**

"The Muggles won't know what's hit them."

"_No one_ rejects a Malfoy! No one with any sense, anyway."

Seraphina lay in front of the fire in the common room. The lake outside the windows was choppy, the winds blowing the water against the building. There had not been much snow that winter yet, but that seemed to be changing. She smiled as the chatter washed over her.

"Lucius was always too cocky for his own good." This statement brought about a round of horrified gasps. Seraphina's smile widened. "In fact, I believe it a good thing that she rejected him. Could you imagine? Queen Elizabeth and _King Lucius_? He would be impossible and so would the rest of his relations."

"Sera! You can't _say_ that," one of the Macmillan girls hissed, a horrified look in her eyes.

Seraphina let out an unladylike snort. "Why not? What do you think will happen? His hordes of admirers will come to lynch me?" Relaxing back in front of the fire, she glanced up through the windows towards the waves splashing silently against the castle. "No, it's better for all of us that a Malfoy will not become a true royal, Muggle or otherwise."


	4. Grindelwald's Era

**Horace Slughorn, 1906**

"Come on first-years, this way."

The Hogwarts dungeons were nowhere near as comfortable as Horace was used to. Everything his parents had provided for him had always been of the best quality, and he intended to continue that way.

"What's your name?"

The speaker was a small and spindly boy, much shorter than Horace. He stared at Horace with wide eyes filled with what seemed to be fear. Horace held back a sigh.

"Horace Slughorn. Who are you?"

"Herbert Crouch," the boy responded quietly.

Horace's eyes lit up. "Crouch, you say? Come, stick with me. We shall be good friends."

*~*

**Elizabeth Burke, 1908**

Winds gusted down the corridors of the dungeons. Elizabeth flipped the collar of her robes up to try to prevent herself from catching cold. Storms she could put up with – this was Scotland, after all – but the noise this wind created! She let out a soft sigh as she entered the quiet of the common room.

"Ah, Burke, there you are."

She barely held back an eyeroll. "What do _you_ want, Sluggy?"

Horace Slughorn was well-known for his brown-nosing ways throughout the entire school. It didn't seem to matter to him just who the person's family was, as long as there was potential for social progression.

"Oh, nothing, nothing…"

Elizabeth waited, knowing that there was never _nothing_ on Horace's mind. There was always a scheme or a plot bubbling away under the surface there. She stepped into the room, rubbing her hands along her arms in an attempt to warm up.

"It's just…" Horace stepped a little closer, an ingratiating smile on his face. "Well, I was wondering whether your father–"

Elizabeth held a hand up. "Let me stop you there. My father is a very busy man. He has no time for school children."

"Another time, perhaps, then."

*~*

**Horace Slughorn, 1913**

"It is your last year, Horace."

"Yes, Sir," Horace replied, smiling up at Professor Selwyn. "It's rather exciting. Although, I must admit that I won't miss these storms."

They both glanced towards the windows, where the Black Lake was churning wildly. _Odd that you can never hear the storms in the common room._ The thought occurred to Horace quickly, but was just as quickly brushed aside.

"Yes. Unfortunate, are they not?"

Horace merely smiled, his eyes drifting from Professor Selwyn to the students currently entering the room. When he saw who they were – or, more specifically, _weren't_ – he returned his attention to the professor.

"Do you have plans for when you graduate, Horace? There are a lot of career options opening up these days."

_This_ caught Horace's attention. His smile – polite until now – widened into something near-genuine.

"Oh, yes, Professor, I have plans. There are many prospects out there for ambitious young men, as you have mentioned. With the troubles that the world is facing, there are many, _many_ options for me out there."

"Yes, unhappy things do seem to be happening in the world these days. Well, Horace, if you need anything…"

"I will let you know, Professor, thank-you."


	5. Voldemort's Era

**Tom Riddle, 1938**

A wizard. It made so much sense. A fierce elation ran through Tom's veins as he slipped along the cold corridors of the Hogwarts dungeons. Not even the sleet that had fallen on his cloak could tame the sensation.

Slytherin House. There were rumours about this place. None of them mattered, though. Not if the House could help him achieve his desires.

Creeping into the common room so as not to alert the others to his presence, Tom stood and stared up at the portrait of Slytherin. The two smiled at each other, some kind of understanding passing between them.

*~*

**Slytherin's portrait, 1942**

This boy was different. How, the portrait could not tell, but there was something special about him. Not since Salazar himself had anyone entered this common room who had the kind of presence that the portrait took special notice of.

It watched as Tom sat, studiously scribbling in a book before the fire. He did this often, sitting before the fire. The storm outside had not dampened Tom's ambition when he had been out in it, which pleased the portrait, for some reason.

This boy would go far, it had no doubt. The special something about him almost guaranteed that.

*~*

**Horace Slughorn, 1943**

Horace jumped as thunder crashed above his head. Lightning flashed as rain lashed the windows as he made his way swiftly down to the dungeons.

A _monster_! Why? Where? In the school! How is such a thing even possible?

The storm quietened as he entered the common room. At least that much had not changed since he was a student: the Slytherin common room was always quiet during a storm.

"Is everything alright, Professor?"

Horace jumped. Spinning, he placed a hand over his thumping heart.

"Oh, goodness, Tom!" He stood still, hand resting on the railing leading up towards the dormitories as he tried to calm his heart. "You are so quiet."

"My apologies, Professor." Tom gave a slight bow, eyes not breaking contact with Horace's. "Is there something amiss?"

"Oh…" Horace grimaced, the memories of the latest staff meeting rushing through his mind. "This is horrible business, Tom. Horrible stuff. Muggleborns being attacked all around the school. Horrible."

Tom nodded slowly. "Yes, Professor. Horrible." There was a small pause in which Horace took several deep breaths. "Does anyone know who it might be?"

Horace started, his heartrate kicking up again. "No, Tom, we don't."

Tom offered a smile. "Shame."

*~*

**Ignatius Lestrange, 1944**

"My Lord Voldemort."

Ignatius bowed low, offering Riddle the back of his neck. It was an ancient sign of trust between a knight and his noble, and Ignatius thought it appropriate. His older brother had told him that Tom Riddle was someone to watch out for when he entered Hogwarts; someone to get on the good side of.

"Another Lestrange, are you?"

"Yes." Ignatius straightened, but did not meet Riddle's eyes. "My brother knew of you before he graduated."

"Good, good. On you go, then. I shall remember this."

Ignatius bowed again before moving off. He had done his duty.

*~*

**Tom Riddle, 1945**

The diary buzzed with power in Tom's hands as he stood before the fire late one night. He was near to graduating, so he knew he would have to find someplace to hide it. There was no point in going to all this trouble and having some first-year find the thing before the end of the school year. He stared up at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, his one worthy ancestor. Lightning flashed through the murky green of the lake.

"What do you think? Where would the great Salazar Slytherin keep his precious things?"

"There is a room."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "'A room'?"

The portrait nodded. "A room of secret things. A room no one else knows of."

Excitement flooded Tom's chest, tensing his muscles. "_No one else_ knows of it? You are sure?"

The portrait nodded regally. "The Room of Requirement is its name. It can be used as a hiding spot for things that should never be found again."

Tom nodded slowly. Thunder rattled the castle and, just as the portrait waved its hand, was swiftly silenced.

"Perhaps I shall return to use it in the future. For now, I believe I will keep this on me."

*~*

**Antonin Dolohov, 1947**

"That fucking Moody is asking for it."

Stalking the length of the common room hearthrug, Antonin shot a glare towards the door. A wide-eyed first-year entered the room, took one look at him and tripped over his feet exiting once again. Antonin grinned, a fierce joy sparking in his chest.

"Yeah, but what can you do about it? That bastard Dumbledore is always watching." Evan Rosier lay back on the lounge before the fire, watching Antonin as he paced. "Not like you can just Avada Kedavra him in school, is it?"

"We won't _be_ in school for long, will we?


	6. Marauder's Era

**Bellatrix Black, 1963**

"Rod's father has joined him. He was one of the first, in fact."

Bellatrix stood tall, holding court in the Slytherin common room. Students continued to enter the room, each dripping wet from the storm outside. The common room was warm and quiet, however. She smiled as some of them settled around her.

"Wasn't he, Rod?"

Rodolphus Lestrange grinned at her from across the room. "Of course he was. Where else does a Lestrange belong but by the side of the greatest wizard Britain has known?"

"It's where we all belong; every single Slytherin. We should _all_ stand by him."

*~*

**Rabastan Lestrange, 1967**

"Did it hurt, Rod?" Chasing his elder brother across the Hogwarts grounds in an attempt to get inside before the threatening storm hit, Rabastan tried to keep his voice low. "How did it happen?"

Rodolphus shot a grin over his shoulder as they made the Entrance Hall. Raising his left forearm, he curled his right hand around it, stroking slowly. Thunder boomed overhead.

"It's _everything_ Father told you, Rab. Pain, pleasure, and a power that is indescribable. He's…"

Rodolphus trailed off, a wondering look to his eyes as they moved off down the stairs. Rabastan watched him carefully, excitement and anticipation coursing through his veins. He was not yet old enough to have been noticed by The Dark Lord, but Rod had been Marked over the Christmas holidays. It would be Rabastan's turn to pledge his loyalty in two years.

"Yeah?"

"He's so powerful, Rab. He'll do it, you know." Rodolphus paused to give the common room password, letting them into the room. "He'll take over the entire world in a few years."

The thunder quietened as they made their way through the room towards the dorms. Rabastan smiled. There was so much to look forward to in coming years.

*~*

**Andromeda Black, 1968**

"You can't resist, Andy. It's your birthright."

"Birthright, Bella? Do you _hear_ yourself?"

Andromeda Black rushed down the stairs from the dormitory, her sister in hot pursuit. She spun at the foot, just as she entered the silent common room.

"What do you think will happen? You join with him, just as Father did, and what? You become his queen, or something? Life doesn't work that way, Bella."

Bellatrix's eyes flashed as she glared. "You had better watch your mouth, _sister_."

Shaking her head, Andromeda turned and stalked out of the room. Thunder crashed ominously as she opened the door.

*~*

**Lucius Malfoy, 1971**

"Are you cold, Cissa?"

Shifting closer to Narcissa Black on the lounge, Lucius removed his jacket and wrapped it securely around her shoulders. Lightning flashed green through the windows of the common room, but there was no accompanying thunder yet. Lucius smiled as she snuggled closer.

"Not anymore."

Her soft smile sent a shiver down his spine. He was about to slide even closer when the door to the common room opened, emitting a group of dripping wet first-years. Sighing, Lucius shot a glare over the back of the lounge.

"It appears we have company."

"A pity. Perhaps next time."

*~*

**Severus Snape, 1976**

"He's _your_ brother, Regulus!"

Regulus shrugged as they entered the common room. "What do you expect me to do about it? He's never listened to me."

Severus sighed. A quick movement out of the corner of his eye grabbed his attention, drawing his eyes to the portrait above the fireplace. The howling of the wind seemed to lessen as they moved further into the room.

"He _will_ listen, though. Him and all the other blood-traitors." Turning back to Regulus, he ran his fingers along his left forearm, a small smile touching his lips. "We will make them regret their inattention."

*~*

**Regulus Black, 1979**

Regulus' hair dripped down into his eyes as he stumbled into the common room. His chest heaved and his head spun as anger and confusion coursed through his system.

The tale Kreacher had told him over the Christmas holidays had shocked him to his very core. The Dark Lord – the master his own Father had encouraged him to join – had used Kreacher in ways Regulus could not abide.

There were things Regulus knew; things that he was certain no one else had worked out. Things that the Dark Lord would not want him knowing.

_No one_ disrespected the Black family.


	7. Harry's Era

**Marcus Flint, 1986**

Marcus stood quietly, staring into the fire. He had known since he was a small child that he would be in Slytherin. Every generation of his family had been sorted Slytherin, according to his Father. It was tradition by that time.

_Every Sacred Twenty-Eight family should aim to be placed in Slytherin, son. It is the only right way._

His Father's words echoed through his mind as he watched the choppy waters outside the windows. _The only right way_. This House would take him far, if he listened to his Father. And, as everyone knew, his Father was never wrong.

*~*

**Draco Malfoy, 1991**

"This is everything Father told me it would be."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded along mutely, as was their custom. Draco moved to stare up at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin.

"He said the common room is always warm and quiet." He moved to stand before one of the windows. "Lightning flashes through the waters outside the windows when it storms."

Turning, he smiled as Crabbe and Goyle both nodded quickly again. Father would be proud of him for being placed in Slytherin, as would their Fathers. They had done well. Draco stood straight and proud.

"This is _our_ time now."

*~*

**Millicent Bulstrode, 1992**

"Did you _see_ the look on Granger's face when Milli had her in that headlock?"

Millicent grinned as she followed along behind Pansy and the rest of the girls. It had felt good, getting her own back on that whiny swot.

"She's won't forget that lesson for a while!"

Wind whistled down the corridor. Pansy cackled as they all stepped into the quiet common room. The sound of the wind outside died down as the door closed.

"Well done, Milli," Pansy declared, shooting her a wide smile. Millicent's stomach flipped and she ducked her head. "That will show the bitch."

*~*

**Marcus Flint, 1993**

"Oi, Flint!"

Marcus ignored the voice. Water splashed from his drenched Quidditch robes, forming large puddles as he made his way down into the dungeons.

"Flint, get back here!"

Marcus' hands clenched. The rain pounded the windows as he moved through the castle, sending strong winds whistling through the armour stands. The footsteps behind him were muffled by a loud crash of thunder.

"Damn it, Flint."

Marcus ducked, hoping he had enough of a lead to be able to make an escape into the Slytherin common room before he was caught. Nothing good could come of this. He held his breath as he entered the room and the usual silence fell over him.

"No! Marcus!"

The door to the common room almost closed before a hand slipped inside it, preventing it from closing completely. Marcus let out a shaky sigh.

"What do you want, Wood?"

Wood said nothing as he entered the common room. He stood just inside the door, panting, water dripping from his robes. Marcus' insides trembled.

The kiss was not as violent as Marcus was accustomed to from Wood. He leant into it, a small groan escaping him.

"Wood…"

"It's _Oliver_, as you well know. Stubborn sod."

*~*

**Draco Malfoy, 1995**

"Professor Umbridge is thinking of creating a special club." Draco lay back on the lounge before the fire, watching lightning flash through the lake. "She says only the _best_ of the students will be able to take part."

"You're a shoo-in, then, Draco?"

He smiled. Pansy's voice was soft and sweet, as it always was when she spoke to him.

"Of course. Father would not put up with me being disrespected like that from someone like her."

"Of course not." Pansy's voice was soothing. "We all know you're the best in the year, Draco."

He smiled as lightning flashed again.

*~*

**Severus Snape, 1996**

"Do not take me for a fool, boy. When I offer you my assistance, I am not trying to usurp your _position_."

Severus could hear the bitterness in his own voice. The situation before him was too familiar: a young man 'chosen' by the Dark Lord to do his bidding, terrified that if he failed, he and his parents would suffer the consequences.

"It isn't _my_ position you are taking, Snape," Draco spat at him, hatred and fear warring in his eyes.

Severus nodded slowly. "I have been friends with both your parents since we were students. Do not think that–"

"I don't _care_."

Spinning, Draco took the stairs up to the dormitories two at a time. Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was tired. There was too much happening at once; too much that he had to keep track of. It was almost overwhelming at times. Moving slowly, he sat down on the edge of the lounge.

He would have to get in touch with Narcissa, he knew. His promise to help Draco was proving much more difficult than first anticipated. And, in this case, a broken promise would mean his death.

*~*

**Blaise Zabini, 1997**

It was chaos. It had been for the past few days, in fact. Students rushing around, fearful for their lives, teachers barking orders; even the ghosts seemed to be in a bit of a tizzy. Complete chaos.

Blaise leant back against the lounge and watched it all pass by. This had nothing to do with him. If Draco wished to throw his life away serving a master, then good for him. If Potter wished to chase Draco and Snape across the countryside, seeking revenge, then good for him as well.

Blaise stayed carefully neutral, as his Mother had taught him.

*~*

**Salazar Slytherin's portrait, 1998**

Thunder rumbled through the school. Or was it? Loud crashes could be heard everywhere, with students racing into and out of the common room, their wands drawn.

No, it seemed that there was no need for the portrait to cast its special kind of magic to calm the common room. This was no storm happening above the school. A brilliant flash of light lit the room in shades of green and a cracking sound echoed through the halls. The portrait glanced to the side in time to see the windows give way.

Water flooded the room, destroying the thousand-year-old paint.

*~*

**Draco Malfoy, 1998**

It was over. The Dark Lord was dead, as were Dumbledore and Snape, and many, many others. The castle had been partially destroyed, but it was finally over. Draco's hands shook a little as he finished cleaning the last of the rubble. All that was really left was to dry everything.

"How's it going down here?"

Draco felt his muscles relax a little and he let out a soft breath. Turning, he offered Theo Nott a small smile. They had always been friends, and the war had not changed that.

"The portrait of Slytherin was destroyed when the windows gave way."

He could hear his voice shaking, but there was nothing he could do about it. Theo would not tease him about it, he knew.

"I saw." Theo looked up towards where the portrait used to hang above the fireplace. "Maybe there's another one that we could replace it with, do you think? It can't be restored."

Draco shook his head slowly. "I think the common room could do without him watching over us all the time."

They both jumped as, for the first time in a thousand years, the sound of a thunderstorm rang through the Slytherin common room.

**Author's Note:**

> This story/art is a part of an anonymous fest: drizzle 2019. Reveals will be in mid-october. Please do not repost anywhere else without explicit permission from the original creator.


End file.
